


Do Not Deceive Me, Mr. Holmes

by warmsummerbreeze



Category: Greg Lestrade - Fandom, Mycroft Holmes - Fandom, Mystrade-Fandom - Fandom, Mystrade-Relationship - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Corruption and Manipulation, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, light Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29941674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmsummerbreeze/pseuds/warmsummerbreeze
Summary: In which the NSY has a corruption problem Mycroft is tasked to solve. He is forced to end his blossoming relationship with Gregory to dissolve the threat and keep the detective inspector safe, but it breaks them in the process. When things in his operation go south, will Mycroft be able to pick up the pieces of his relationship with Gregory? Will Gregory still want him back?This idea was suggested to be by a lovely reader! I hope I do it justice, it's going to be a longer story and I might change up some minor details along the way but I hope you all enjoy!
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade, Mystrade - Relationship, Mystrade-Relationship - Relationship
Comments: 27
Kudos: 28





	1. In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nishlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nishlocked/gifts).



> I'm also planning on uploading for this story two-ish times a week, Tuesdays and Fridays because they are least busy school days. I hope you enjoy this first chapter!

It was far past the time Greg should have left work when he was putting on his coat and reaching for his keys. The mess of paperwork stacked on his desk was mocking him. Files upon files taunting him, beckoning him to finish them. He checked his watch and groaned at the time. _Late, again._ The Yard was mostly quiet, most people had already retired to their homes and families for the night. Unlike them, Greg had no sense of time. He had no family to go back home to. Sighing, he picked up his briefcase and buttoned his coat, preparing himself to bear the hard cold of wintery London. 

Greg made his way down the main corridor, his footsteps echoing in the dark, eerily silent hallway. He stepped into the biting cold and a shiver ran down his spine, he really did hate walking home, alone, in the cold night. The detective inspector soldiered on regardless, a bit grumpy, and began the walk back to his rejected flat. He kept his eyes trained on the hard pavement as he dragged his heavy feet down the street, shoulders hunched and coat collars popped up in efforts to shield himself from the chilling wind. 

He felt the presence of a car parking a few feet away from, on the side of the road, but kept walking not sparring it a glance. Greg was abruptly pulled from his current state of misery by a warm, yet firm hand. He jumped with a yelp at the sudden intrusion and whirled around to see who had afflicted him with such a scare. 

There under the dim lighting of a lamppost stood Mycroft Holmes, in all his posh and pompous glory. A small smirk playing across his pink lips. He leaned against his umbrella and in a swift motion adjusted his tie. 

“Detective Inspector, I apologize for having frightened you.” He said in a smooth voice, smile never leaving his face. 

“You could’ve called out to me you know? Instead of sneaking up on me like that.” Greg hadn’t even heard the car door shut close, he wondered how the man had been so stealthy. “What is it that you need, Mycroft? Have we not just met to discuss Sherlock?”

“Oh surely our relationship is more than that of business, Inspector?” Mycroft mused, stepping closer to Lestrade, only a few feet away from him now.

“I don’t think I understand what you are referring to.” He answered, genuinely confused at what Mycroft was trying to get at, “You mean kidnapping me to get information about your neurotic little brother is basically friendship to you?”

Mycroft chuckled lightly, leaning back a bit and swinging his umbrella rhythmically, “Oh hardly, Inspector. Plus, you very well know I scarcely ‘kidnap’ you anymore. You get in the car voluntarily.” 

He stepped closer. Greg felt his heart start to race in his chest, his breath came out quick and shallow. His reaction could be attributed to two things: 1. Mycroft Holmes was _the_ british government and a _Holmes_ which by default made him incredibly intimidating and 2. Greg was inexplicably attracted to the tall, lean, ginger standing just a few centimeters away from his face, which made him even more intimidating. 

“Really Inspector? Think that lowly of me? That I’m just using you? That I haven’t _noticed?”_

_Fuck._ Because of _course_ he bloody knew, he was a genius after all. Greg shuddered, wishing with all his might that this was either a dream or that he was hiding in the deepest hole in the earth. 

“Inspector…” Mycroft singsonged, tapping at Greg’s feet with his umbrella. “Cat got your tongue?”

“What do you want, Mycroft?” Greg found his voice, although it was very breathy.

Mycroft hummed and leaned in to whisper into Greg’s ear, “You _like_ me.”

Greg stiffened, squeezing his eyes shut, he felt a shiver run down his spine as he let out a shaky breath. His blood ran cold. He could still feel Mycroft’s hot breath against his ear lobe. Then it was gone. Greg slowly opened his eyes and was met with Mycroft’s smug expression, eyes bright in the moonlight.

“What do you _want,_ Mycroft?”, Greg asked through gritted teeth, he could no longer bear to be having that conversation with him. 

“Let me walk you home.” Mycroft said, voice softer, less trying to mock Greg and more trying to persuade him to join his walk. Greg stood there stunned at the rapid change of character Mycroft had just had. _Why,_ he thought to himself, but refused himself the right to look further into it.

“Fine”, He answered, turning his heels and starting back on his route home. He heard Mycroft skip a step to catch up with the already walking detective. 

They walked in silence for most the way, Mycroft occasionally swinging his umbrella and Greg pulling up his coat lapels and stuffing his hands impossibly deeper into his pockets. Mycroft seemed to be braving the cold much better than the inspector. 

Mycroft’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, “So Inspector, I’m sure you’ve already come to your own conclusions, but aren’t you going to ask if I feel the same way?” he asked sweetly, but it felt feigned. 

Greg just huffed in amusement and kept walking with his haze down to the ground. 

“Seriously.” Mycroft stated, voice back to it’s normal, smooth tone. 

“What do you want me to say to you Mycroft?'', Greg questioned, clearly losing his patience as he uttered the words irritatedly. “Oh, Mycroft, yes I do like you! Please, please like me back, kiss me I beg you!” Greg said in a mocking tone, “Is that what you want? Haven’t you humiliated me enough? Haven’t you gotten your good laug-”

Greg abruptly stopped mid-sentence when Mycroft had halted and grabbed him hard by the arm, whirling him around to face the elder Holmes. Mycroft let himself stare for a few moments, drinking in the sight of the exasperated Gregory. Cheeks and ears flushed from the cold, nose red at the tip, brows knitted together in frustration. His breaths were coming out in little pants that formed tiny clouds in the cold night. The ginger was up in his face again, bearing into his warm chocolate eyes. Mycroft slowly and tentatively leaned in, invading Greg’s personal space, he heard his breath hitch. Closing the space between them, he landed a soft, quick peck on the tip of Greg’s flushed nose and pulled away. 

The detective’s eyes were wide open, breathing quickly again, he looked up at Mycroft utterly in disbelief of what had just occurred. He searched his eyes for something, _anything,_ that would hint Mycroft was teasing him. But he could only find soft, blue orbs staring back at him, _warm_. Mycroft started removing his long, wool coat, never taking his eyes away from Gregory. Slowly, he wrapped the heavy coat around the detective’s shoulders, pulling at the lapels to adjust it over his frame.

Greg’s mind was racing. Mycroft’s coat was a welcomed weight. It was _oh so_ warm and it smelled heavily of the elder Holmes. His shivering ceased. Mycroft looked back to the sidewalk ahead and began walking once again, leaving a dazed Gregory behind. The detective inspector snapped out of it and joined Mycroft’s side, walking the rest of the way to his flat in silence. 

They stopped at the front door. Greg approached to put his keys in and unlock the door knob.

He swiftly turned around to see Mycroft standing a foot away, leaning against his umbrella.

“Oh!” Greg exclaimed sheepishly, “Here...Thanks.” He murmured as he slid Mycroft’s comforting coat off his shoulders and extended his arm to return it to it’s rightful owner. Mycroft smiled, staring at it for a moment before stepping forward to retrieve his coat. He took the opportunity to grab Greg by the wrist as he was turning back to the door. In one hasty motion, he brought his hand to wrap around the nape of Greg’s neck and pulled him into a soft kiss. 

Greg swore his heart stopped beating and his stomach flipped. Mycroft’s lips were so warm and velvety soft, he began to melt, the cold not affecting him in that instant. After his initial shock, he kissed him back, plush lips reacting to Mycroft’s as they danced together. Greg decided he was addicted to the feeling of the kiss. He could feel his heartbeat _everywhere,_ he heard it thumping loudly in his ears, hoping Mycroft couldn’t hear it pressed against his chest. The grip on his neck tightened and brought them impossibly closer. Greg threaded his fingers through Mycroft’s hair and landed his palms on his hot cheeks. He felt another hand snake around his waist, pulling flush against the taller man as his tongue swiped at his lower lip, nipping at it lightly. 

Greg was sure he was in heaven and _bloody hell where had this man learnt how to kiss like this?_ . His body was on fire, who knew that’s all it would take to warm Gregory up? After a few brief moments, they pulled away, panting and gasping tiny breaths of air. Their warm breath coming out in puffs when coming in contact with the chilling wind. A sudden feeling of dread filled Greg, he was too afraid to look up into Mycroft’s eyes and see regret written on his features. He felt a light finger on his chin, guiding his gaze back to Mycroft, who looked at him with soft eyes, _genuine._

“I didn’t regret that.” He said voice low, pressing a kiss between Greg’s furrowed eyebrows. 

“What are you doing?” Greg whispered without thinking. He felt another peck on his nose and lips. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mycroft responded and pulled away from the warm embrace. He shrugged his coat back on, he gave Greg one last look, one last warm smile, before he swiftly turned back down the street, swinging his umbrella. 

Greg could not tear his eyes away from the tall figure of Mycroft as he walked away. He only returned his attention back to the door when he saw the elder Holmes turn a corner. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and pushed the door open, shutting it behind him and closing his eyes. 

_Mycroft Holmes is going to be the death of me._

\------------------

Greg hadn't heard from Mycroft for a few days after that kiss. It’s not like Greg could properly contact the man either, but he was dying to. He was rather confused after that night, and he could not shake the feeling of the warm lips against his. 

Gregory was currently at work. Thinking of such things. He shook his head disapprovingly at his own thoughts, afraid if he lingered upon it any longer he was going to regret the heartbreak later. Afterall, he didn’t really know Mycroft’s intentions, nor what had made him act the way he did that night. It was frustrating to the detective inspector, thus he buried himself into his work, files, paperwork, press conferences. By the end of the day he was worn and exhausted. He was beginning to think his “late” hour of leaving work had become his “normal” shift time as he couldn’t remember the last time had left work at the true hour of leave. 

He began arranging his paperwork into neater piles before reaching for his coat. As he grabbed his keys, he looked up and there stood Mycroft, leaning against the door frame. 

Greg gasped loudly and stumbled back onto his chair in the surprise. 

“Mycroft!” He exclaimed, exasperated and ever so slightly amused, “You’ve _got_ to stop creeping up like that, when did you even get it?” 

“Few minutes ago.” The taller man answered with ease. “Far too caught up in your thoughts to notice, inspector. Thinking about me?” he asked, a smug smirk plastered on his face.

Greg scoffed and rose again, grabbing his keys and began going for the door, expecting Mycroft to move aside so that they could both leave. But he did not. His eyes bore into Gregory’s as he blocked the door. 

“Mycroft…” Greg began, rubbing his temples. He was truly _so confused._

“Why, Inspector?” Mycroft’s voice pulled him back to his current reality.

“What?” Greg looked back at him, his eyes soft and genuine like that had been the other night. 

“Why confused?”

Greg let a sigh, “Because Mycroft...what are you doing here?, what exactly do you wan-”

Mycroft cut him off by swooping down and bringing the plush lips to meet his in a sweet, tender kiss. He rested his hands on Greg’s waist and pulled away, resting his forehead against Greg’s. The detective inspector drew in a long breath and searched for Mycroft’s blue eyes. 

“Come dine with me.” Mycroft didn’t ask, he simply stated and held out his hand for Greg to take. Gregory didn’t need to be told twice, neither did he spare a second thought on the statement, he simply took Mycroft’s outstretched hand and let himself be led outside. A black car was waiting for them both. Mycroft held the door out for Greg and he chuckled inside, _how gentlemanly._ Mycroft slid in after him and closed the door shut. It seemed the driver already knew where to go because he simply started driving, no direction nor prompting needed from Mycroft. 

Gregory felt a hand slip on his thigh, and he whipped his head around to find Mycroft looking straight ahead, a small smile on his lips. The detective inspector, feeling quite bold, leaned closer until their knees were bumping against each other and pecked Mycroft’s cheek. The elder Holmes’ smile grew a bit wider and he reciprocated the act of affection by cupping Greg’s cheek and giving a proper kiss. 

The car came to a halt. 

“We are here, Mr. Holmes, sir.”

\------------------

The restaurant was nice. _Very nice._ Yet again Greg hadn’t expected anything less from the posh Mr. Holmes. They were ushered to their table by a sharply dressed waiter and they sat, in a secluded corner, a nice private nook. 

“Cut the crap, Mycroft.” Greg said as Mycroft had begun to lay the white cloth napkin over his lap. 

“Pardon?” Mycroft asked, bemused but not offended. 

“What is this?” Greg gestured between the both of them sitting across each other at the table, “Where is this going? Why-?”

“Enough with the questions, Gregory.” Mycroft muttered, concentrating on the menu. He placed it down and lifted his gaze to meet Greg’s eyes.

Mycroft sighed, “I’m... _attracted_ to you. Infatuated with you, would probably be a more appropriate term. And it came to my attention that you, _somehow,_ reciprocate the sentiment.” 

“ _You,_ Mycroft Holmes, like _me?”_ Greg asked as he leaned back on his chair, arms crossed as he wondered out loud. 

“Yes. Have for a while now, perhaps since I started asking you about Sherlock. Why does this surprise you, Gregory? Didn’t think I _had it in me_?” Mycroft responded, also crossing his arms at his chest, staring into the dark chocolate orbs. 

“No.” Greg responds, lifting the menu to glance at his options because he was _quite_ hungry, “Didn’t think you had it in you.” 

Greg pauses for a moment, then looks up at Mycroft, who still has his arms crossed across his chest, 

“Guess I was wrong.” He gives Mycroft a warm smile. “Right?” Greg asks leaning across the table, eyes never leaving Mycroft’s. 

“Right.” Mycroft responds softly, leaning to meet Greg halfway across the table. He takes his hand and places a kiss on every knuckle before taking his own menu.

“The veal here is quite delicious.” 

“That what you’re having?” 

“Yes.”

“I’ll have the same.”

\---------------

Dinner was pleasant. After the tension had lifted, the atmosphere was nice. They talked over their meal and wine, comfortable as ever. Both parties were equally surprised and delighted that they found each other’s presence and company thoroughly enjoyable. After dinner was over, Mycroft drove Greg back to his flat and walked him to the door, as the _gentleman_ he was.

“You cheeky bastard…” Greg started as he stroked Mycroft’s hair. They stood at front of the door, Mycroft had his arms around Greg’s waist, looking affectionately into his eyes. “Wine-ing and dine-ing me like that...who would’ve thought?” he mused. 

Mycroft only hummed in response, pressing a kiss on his forehead. “About time I acted upon what I was feeling.” he murmured.

“Glad you did.” Greg whispered.

\-----------------

Since then, Mycroft and Greg went on multiple dates. Though Mycroft was _the_ british government and he was quite busy a lot of the time, he managed to always find time to share with his favorite detective. 

\----------------

It had been on an uneventful Tuesday that Mycroft showed up to the Yard to surprise Gregory after work. Most of their dates _were_ _surprises,_ at least to Gregory, for Mycroft always sent a black car to retrieve him for dinner, or to go visit him at his flat, or whatever other activity. For Gregory, the guessing game was fun. It was like playing the lottery everyday when he looked out the window of his office to see if he caught a glimpse of a fancy black car parked on the curb. On that Tuesday, he had seen none. Usually he was a bit dejected when he didn’t win _the lottery_ as he had called it, but carried on with packing his things anyway. 

He made his way down the corridor and out the main entrance. It was already dark out by the time he had decided to leave, not surprisingly. He pushed the door open, and there standing on the pavement, leaning against his inseparable umbrella, was Mycroft. Greg initially looked surprised, there was no black car, but he quickly broke into a chuckle. He made his way down the steps and engulfed Mycroft into a tight hug. 

“Nice surprise?” He asked, snaking his arms around Gregory and sneaking a gentle kiss. 

“Most certainly” Greg smiled, “No car today?”

“No, I thought I’d walk you home today.” Mycroft said stroking some of Greg’s stray silvery locks, “Unless you’d prefer to take the car in which cas-” 

“No, no” Greg shook his head, placing his palm over Mycroft’s chest, “A walk sounds perfect.”

Walk they did. Greg interlaced his fingers with Mycroft’s as he swung his umbrella back and forth. They conversed, both at ease, content in the company of the other after a long day at work. The pair had been close to Gregory’s place when the detective spotted a gelato shop. He stopped in his tracks, hand still locked with Mycroft which made the elder Holmes stumble back a bit as he felt the tug at his hand. 

“Myc, we have to get gelato.” Greg said, matter-of-factly, while starring in awe at the shop through the large window pane. 

“Grego-”

“Nope. I will not let you refuse, let’s go.” Greg opened the door to the gelateria and dragged Mycroft in.

Greg handed Mycroft his cone while he held his own and paid for their sweet treats. They headed out into the night again, holding hands and eating their ice cream as they made their way to Greg’s flat. The scoops had been particularly large on the small and unstable sugar cones, so much so that when Mycroft gave his gelato a rather enthusiastic lick, the scoop of his stracciatella flavored gelato tipped over and fell onto the pavement. 

He stopped dead in his tracks and mourned the death of the delicious sweet. Greg broke out in fits of laughter at the sight of his disappointed partner. A tragedy, indeed.

“Now Gregory…” Mycroft started, turning to face the detective who was currently gasping for air and shaking from his roaring laugh, “You know sharing is _caring_ ” the tall ginger said as he leaned in to have a bit of Greg’s chocolate scoop.

“Oh no you don’t!” Greg called out and quickly tried to avoid Mycroft’s impending plan to steal his ice cream and then suddenly…

_Plop_

The crime scene on the pavement was deeply disturbing and gruesome. Chocolate splattered against the concrete, melted stracciatella not so far away. 

“Mycroft!” Greg cried out at his spilled ice cream. They both looked at each other, empty cones still clutched in their hands, and burst out in laughter. Greg’s nose crinkled as he heaved out a laugh and Mycroft watched him, adoring the man more than he thought was possible.

“I guess we must go back.” Mycroft said, holding out his hand. Greg took it and they went back to the gelato place for a redo. 

\-------------

Their relationship was blossoming. With every date, every touch, every kiss and every affection, they grew closer, enjoying each other’s company. Greg found himself the happiest he had been in a while. Like an idiot, love sick puppy or infatuated teenager. It was thrilling. Of course it was Mycroft Holmes, and a lot of the time he was working, he didn’t answer his messages or if he did, it took him ages. But Gregory didn’t mind, it made everytime they actually did meet or did speak all the more special and suspenseful for when the next would be. 

Greg was sorting through a pile of paperwork when he saw it, buried underneath all the files he _really_ should fill out. An innocent flyer, _The Annual New Scotland Yard Valentine’s Day Dinner,_ it read. Greg scoffed, he’d really stopped going to those after his divorce, he felt out of place with everyone bringing their plus ones and him sitting there alone. Plus he didn’t much enjoy it anyway. This year, however, felt _very_ different. This year he had a possible plus one. One who made him feel special and cared for and he wanted to show off. Not because he was Mycroft Holmes, but because he had someone who cared now, no one could look at him with pity. 

Greg took the flyer and stuffed it with the rest of his files into his briefcase. There was no car waiting outside that day, so Greg assumed Mycroft must’ve been busy. He never took it personally, he was very understanding of the Holmes’ and their _work._ So he walked home and made some dinner. He set down the flyer on the coffee table as he drank his tea and watched telly. 

_Perhaps,_ he thought, _perhaps I’ll ask him._

As the night grew to a close, Greg slipped into his bedroom to get some much needed rest. He laid down on the bed and cocooned himself in the covers. He was inexplicably restless and nervous, _what if Mycroft didn’t want to go with him?_ He shook himself off of the self doubt and settled on simply asking, he hadn’t anything to lose. If Mycroft didn’t want to go, he wouldn't push him, they’d only been going for 3 months anyway. 

_Yeah,_ he said to himself as he began to drift off, _I’ll do it._


	2. Mr. Chief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep everyone waiting! I hope y'all like it, the story is beginning to unfold a bit. I think I'm going to aim for the next chapter to be up over the weekend mainly because the next chapter is juicy and this one is kinda dry. Anyway, that's it for now!

The elevator dinged indicating it had reached Mycroft’s floor. The double doors opened and out stepped Mr. Holmes in his signature three piece suit, pocket watch and polished shoes, umbrella certainly never detached from his side either. He strode to his office purposefully, an aura of confidence and superiority everyone in the vicinity felt and venerated. 

What some hadn’t noticed, was the ever so slight skip in his step. The truth was, Mr. Holmes had been in a  _ good  _ mood as of late and this was directly correlated with a particular person who had recently become integral to his well being. A certain detective inspector by the name of Gregory Lestrade. 

He swiftly made his way into his office and shrugged off his coat, hanging it along with his umbrella on his coat rack. Mycroft walked over to this large leather office chair and straightening his suit jacket, he sat down and got to work. He flipped through files and typed away on his computer, answering calls and going to meetings. Mycroft was a busy man and his job certainly wasn’t easy. 

Around midday, he got a knock on the heavy, cherry oak door. After a few seconds, Anthea walked through the door holding a file in her hand. 

“Mr. Holmes, we’ve just gotten an important case of utmost importance and highly time sensitive.” Anthea delivered smoothly, “Classified, sir.”

She left the file on the desk and hastily left the office, closing the door behind her. Mycroft picked the file up from where Anthea placed it on his large mahogany desk, and opened it to the first page. His stomach dropped as he read over the documents in the file. It was an extensive report compromising the New Scotland Yard Chief: Christopher Patrick. Pages upon pages of documents entailing accusations of corruption, fraud and money laundering. Mycroft shook his head in disapproval; this was certainly  _ not  _ the kind of case he wanted to be looking at it. It was huge. An issue that affected and put the people in danger in their very own city. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration at the realization that the man at the head of their police department was dangerous and corrupt. And then it hit him.  _ His  _ detective inspector, Gregory, worked there too. 

Mycroft dropped the file and rubbed the palms of his hands over his face. The voices in his head became louder in volume, almost screaming, he wanted them so badly to stop. 

_ You know what you have to do.  _

_ Your JOB comes first. _

_ Keep the people safe, it’s your obligation.  _

_ Keep him safe. _

_ It’s your duty.  _

Mycroft growled cradling his face, it was far  _ too  _ loud in this head. A smaller voice trying to be heard but fell short of calling attention, it called out desperately.

_ But you’ll break his heart.  _

Mycroft ignored it. He looked through the file, already busying himself with learning as much about the man as possible that could help him conclude that he was in fact  _ corrupt _ . He needed proof that the claims were true, false accusations of important officials was not uncommon in his line of work. Hard cold evidence is what he needed. 

Thus far what Mycroft had collected from the file were a couple key things. Mr. Patrick was divorced. His marriage had ended badly and there was no love involved in the first place. His wife was not particularly wealthy either. Mycroft started rummaging through his mind piecing and deducing the reason so his marriage.  _ Ah yes,  _ he thought to himself,  _ fitting in with societal expectation.  _ He was either gay or masochist. Mycroft would have time to figure that out. Chief Patrick also had an infatuation with climbing the social ladder. He had many important people as friends and acquaintances, most likely due to his poor family background and traumatizing childhood. 

Mycroft decided he knew what he had to do. He knew the Chief would have interest in meeting Mycroft given he held a position in government. Though he could not randomly himself show interest in speaking with the chief as his actions would be then suspicious. He would have to wait for the right opportunity to meet him at an event by chance and develop a relationship of trust with him. Mycroft huffed, it was far past his days to be doing deceitful work, but this man was intelligent, foolish as well, but somehow his behavior had slipped through the cracks.  _ That _ Mycroft would not tolerate. 

Picking up his phone, he placed a call. Then went about his day just the same. 

\-----------------

Greg got off work earlier than usual on that Wednesday.  _ Well,  _ earlier as in at 6 p.m., but he felt proud of himself nevertheless for trying to get off closer to his official time. When he headed out the door, after collecting his things and chucking them in his briefcase, he didn’t see the black car out. Sighing, he began his walking route home. He hadn’t seen Mycroft in a couple days and it brought him down. Gregory hadn’t realized just how much he had become attached to elder Holmes, nor did he realize how fast he was falling for him, or how much he enjoyed his company. He missed him. 

It was drawing closer to Valentine’s day and Gregory hadn’t had the chance to ask Mycroft yet if he wanted to come along with him as his plus one. Greg figured the man was very busy, and he didn’t wish to disturb him, after all he was a Holmes and his job was very  _ very  _ important to him. 

Gregory arrived home and decided he would wait until Mycroft came around. He never went more than 5 days without a word and it had only been 3. Perhaps Gregory was merely overreacting. He heated up some dinner for himself and watched telly until his eyes felt heavy.

\------------------

Mycroft stepped through the heavy double oak doors of the briefing room. He’d gotten himself invited to a conference between various chiefs of security and transport without drawing suspicion. After all, he was, in some way the  _ boss _ , thought a quite distant one. The subject of the briefing was of little importance to Mycroft. His true task sat 3 seats away from him.

Mr. Patrick sat smiling at his superiors, talking them up smoothly. He was, no doubt, good at that. Mycroft observed the man sitting only a feet away. He was angry. Angry that such a powerless man would have to take so much of his time and energy but most importantly  _ his  _ Gregory.  _ His  _ sweet Gregory with whom he was starting to fall in love with. The detective inspector who stole his heart from him without permission. He would have to pretend like things never happened between them,  _ just  _ when it had started to get so good.

Mycroft shook his head at the thoughts clouding his judgment and returned his attention to his subject. He was there to observe if the chief of the NYS was someone he could fool hard enough for the man to spill information on his corrupt ministrations. Mycroft kept a careful watch during the briefing, eagle eyes searching and deducing from the chief’s tiny mannerism. He was particularly touchy. He swept light fingertips on his coworker’s forearms and grazed the shoulders of the superiors. Mycroft hummed to himself at the information he had gathered, his plan could go forth. 

At the end of the briefing, Mycroft rose from his chain swiftly and made his way over to Mr. Patrick. Mycroft extended his hand for a handshake in greeting as Mr. Patrick rose hastily from his chair in order to reciprocate the action.

“Christopher Patrick,” the chief introduced himself, “I’ve never seen you at this kind of briefing before!” he said with a chuckle, taking Mycroft's hand and shaking it firmly. 

“Ah yes,” Mycroft began, voice smooth and calculated, “Well, I’m merely here to oversee operations, it’s not usually my line of work but once in a while it’s nice to see it in person rather than a report. I’m Mycroft Holmes.” he finished with a warm smile, trying his best to seem appealing to the man in front of him, though he groaned internally.

“Ah, I see, well…” Christopher looked up at Mycroft returning the smile, “It is certainly nice to meet you, sir.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.  _ Nice to meet you. Hmmm pretending he doesn’t know me, I know he does. Trying to seem nonchalant because he likes me.I see you right through it, this should be easy.  _ Mycroft cleared his throat, straightening up and dusting his waistcoat of non existent dust. 

“The pleasure is mine” Mycroft said as he rose a hand and gave the chief a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.  _ Touchy _ . They shared another smile and Mycroft took his leave. He walked out the doors with a knowing smirk playing on his lips and swung his umbrella playfully. 

\-----------------

It was reaching day 7 of no Mycroft contact. Gregory was beginning to feel frustrated for 2 reasons. The first was that he wanted to see his  _ boyfriend? _ they hadn’t really put a label on anything at the point, only gone on a couple of dates, sharing kisses and touches and loving words. Regardless, Gregory missed Mycroft.  _ A lot _ . The second reason was that he was mad at himself for being too needy and for missing the lean ginger so  _ darn  _ much. He had realized the extent of the effect the elder Holmes had on him. He just wanted to see him, even if it was for a couple minutes. He missed his arms around his waist and his lips against his own, so soft and warm. 

Gregory lied in bed after work. He was sprawled out across the sheets, looking up at the blank ceiling as if it would offer any comfort or solution to his problems. Heaving with an exasperated sigh, Gregory decided he needed to get over himself and text the man. So he did.

_ Hi darlin’. Haven’t heard from you in a bit. I know you’re probably busy but just wanted to check in and see that you’re alright. -GL  _

Greg held himself back from typing that  _ i miss you,  _ and sent the text. He promptly plopped himself back on the bed and closed his eyes.

\---------------

Mycroft felt his mobile vibrate in the pocket of his coat. He was currently in his car, heading back home after a rather long, strenuous day. He pulled it out promptly and saw the message on the bright screen. His heart lurched when he saw who it was from. He wanted so badly to respond to Gregory and tell him to come over and they would share dinner and a drink and cuddle on the couch and watch a film. But ignoring his existence thus far had made it much easier for Mycroft to deal with the separation. Nevertheless, he could not keep that act up any longer and unlocked his phone to reply with a brief message.

\--------------

Lestrade’s eyes shot wide open when he heard the loud ring of his phone. He scrambled to collect it from the bedside table and the screen illuminated. 

_ I’m fine Gregory. -MH _

Greg swiftly unlocked his phone and began typing a response. Given Mycroft didn’t like being called for reason’s Gregory had got to understand, he figured now would be his chance to ask him out for the valentine’s dinner. His fingers were quick on the touchscreen keyboard yet he fumbled a bit, nervous. He clicked send and rolled to one side of the bed. 

_ That’s good to hear. Listen I’ve got a bit of a request, which you are fully welcome to decline, no hard feelings I will understand if you’re busy or don’t want to come but, there’s going to be this Valentine’s day dinner at work next week and I’m wondering if you’d like to come along. As my plus one. Like I said no pressure, I understand Mycroft. -GL _

_ Mycroft Holmes is going to be the death of me.  _ Greg thought to himself as he curled himself further into his covers and willed himself to sleep. 

\-------------------

When Gregory woke up the next morning he hesitantly reached for his phone. He was nervous, scared, though he said he wouldn't mind and wouldn't let himself take it personally, Greg knew he’d still be a bit hurt if Mycroft said no. His tentative hand hovered over his mobile phone resting on the bedside table. Sighing he picked it up and the screen turned on revealing the reply. 

_ Unfortunately, I cannot Gregory. I must put an end to this, please so kindly pretend it never happened. -MH _

Gregory’s heart dropped. His mind began racing with all the possible scenarios in which he had messed up. Was it too much asking him to come? He shouldn't have asked he knew it-he shouldn’t have. Had it  _ all  _ been too much for Mycroft? Greg began spiraling down a rabbit hole of self doubt as he read and reread the message, memorizing it in his brain. Greg was so confused. The only thing he could possibly find himself guilty of was  _ loving  _ too much, and that hardly seemed like a bad thing. 

_ Right. What? -GL _

The message promptly bounced back.

_ The recipient you are trying to message is no longer available.  _

Had he just gotten blocked by Mycroft Holmes? 

In the next moments Greg went from hurt to embarrassed to disappointed to hurt again and finally angry. He let himself trust a Holmes and now there he lay on his unmade bed, broken hearted after only 3 months of dating. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong, his heart only wanted to be where they were only a week ago, soft touches and whispers of sweet nothings. Spilling and eating ice cream as they walked hand in hand through the streets of London on a crisp, clear night. Greg cocooned himself into the covers, heart heavy, and closed his eyes trying to rid himself of the unsettling feeling in his stomach. 

\--------------

Mycroft stared at the screen for several long minutes after he had pressed the block button. As much as it had hurt, the brevity of the matter made it a lot better for him. He did desire to linger upon his broken feelings for long. Though that backfired when he could not tear his eyes away from the small screen. 

His car came to a halt and he unconsciously thanked his driver as he slid out the door. He had to get on with his plan. No more dilly dallying on things that pertained to himself, he had to focus on his job at the moment. 

Thinking back on the request Gregory had made, Mycroft suddenly got the perfect idea. The chief would certainly be at the party, this was the perfect opportunity to get closer to him and certainly closer to obtaining insight on his matters. 

He picked up the phone in his home office and placed a call. He chatted away with the insufferable chief for a few minutes before finally the other man asked what he had been waiting for. 

“Mr. Holmes, why don’t you stop by the party on Friday? I’d love to chat some more with you” Christopher asked, trying his best to seem nonchalant but Mycroft saw right through it. He knew the other man was interested in him. 

“That sounds lovely, I’d also like to see you again” Mycroft added, trying his best to sound lovely. 

“Perfect.”

Then line cut off with a click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably gonna start the next chapter after posting this lol. I just cannot wait, probably because I'm not too satisfied with this one. I am sorryyy, next one will be better I promise! ❤️❤️ Thanks for reading as always!


	3. Unhappy Valentine's Day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so. It's not Tuesday BUT I really felt the need to write another chapter after the very bland one from Yesterday so...here it is. I hope it is much better and that y'all enjoy it! Let me know :)

Gregory groaned over his microwaved lunch. He’d been feeling like absolute crap since his  _ break up?  _ with Mycroft. He’d been in such a foul mood that his _entire_ team had noticed. Sherlock, of course, had noticed as well. He’d deduced that he’d been seeing someone by the change in his gait, a bit preppy and upbeat. But he’d failed figuring out who. Greg figured it was probably because the times he met with Mycroft weren’t anywhere near close to the next time he would see Sherlock. Thus the younger Holmes’ had no scent or other clues that would give off Mycroft’s identity, he simply assumed it was a middle aged ginger with a boring job. So he’d been  _ sorta _ close.

Back to reality, there he sat.  _ Alone.  _ Playing with his peas like a child. He surely did feel like a child. He was having a sulk, lamenting his crap luck with love. What made it worse was how hard he was falling for Mycroft. He threw the rest of his lunch and fussed over his work. Lestrade, eventually, trudged back home after the uneventfully dull day and slipped into bed for a couple hours. 

He’d finally gone home at his official time of clock out.

He curled up into himself as much as he could and let a couple silent tears fall. Greg wiped at the angrily, why was he so affected?. Why did he  _ have to be  _ so affected by damned Mycroft Holmes? His heart ached. Greg truly couldn’t believe he’d concealed his feelings for Mycroft for  _ years  _ but after 3 short months had him feeling like the world as he knew it was ending for good.

Several hours later, Gregory rose from the bed, feeling completely out of place. He’d been mourning the death of his first relationship since his divorce for the past couple hours, bemoaning his foolishness for being so trusting. He should've known; the night that Mycroft snuck up on him on the sidewalk, that it was all going to blow up in his face. He dragged a hand over his face groaning at his current state of misery. He hated feeling like this, he just wanted Mycroft back. 

Reluctantly, he rose from the bed and checked the time. It was 7:00 pm. and the dinner was at 8:00. He  _ really, truly  _ did not want to go, but as Greg quickly realized; he had to. Though he always said he wouldn't go to those deplorable events, but he was the detective inspector and most definitely had to show face. He paddled his way into the bathroom to begin getting ready for the dreadful task at hand. 

Once ready Greg pulled on his coat and took his keys, locking the door behind him as he exited his flat. Frowning already at the thought of having to go to such social obligation with  _ no  _ comforting  plus one to get him through the torture of it all. 

\-------------

Mycroft was in his black car. The chauffeur was navigating the busy London streets swiftly, making his way to Chief Patrick’s house. Mycroft had made the decision to pick him up and spend as much time possible with him in order to earn his trust. He found the situation irritatingly agonising. He could’ve been going with  _ his Gregory  _ to the event if it weren’t for his job at hand. Balancing his hands on his umbrella, he willed himself to stay calm and focused. He very nearly felt like he was going to explode in rage, but refrained. 

He’d chosen that night to wear his usual. A three piece suit that fit perfectly to the shape of his tall, lean body. Mycroft sat tense in the back of the car, hands firmly gripping his umbrella like a life source. He was not enjoying one second of the task at hand, but what he was dreading was the look on Greg’s beautiful face when he walked through the doors of the NSY with the Chief instead of him. He knew what he was doing was beyond the bounds of betrayal, it would seem as if he was trying to hurt the detective inspector on  _ purpose _ . It was cruel. Yet there he sat, going through with the foolish plan and waited for the chief inspector in his car. 

After a few minutes, Mr. Patrick emerged and slid through the car door. 

“Good evening, Mr. Holmes.” He said beaming. Mycroft very nearly gagged at the sight of the man next to him. Gathering all of his will power, he offered him a soft smile.

“Good evening, indeed, Mr. Patrick.” He delivered, voice unwavering though he was repulsed by him.

As the car drove off to the NSY, he felt a hand slip onto his thigh ever so carefully. The fingers grazed the soft fabric of his far too exquisite and expensive trousers. Mycroft tensed at the uncomfortable sensation. Forcing himself quickly to relax, he smirked as to not disencourage the man sitting next to him, but kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. 

\---------------

The moment Gregory stepped through the main doors of the NSY, he already knew the night was going to be doomed. Immediately looking into the large room where the gathering was held, he had caught a glimpse of his ex-wife and frowned. He  _ really  _ did  _ not  _ want to deal with that on that night out of all nights. Sighing, he made his way swiftly to the makeshift bar to get himself a drink. He was really going to need one if he wanted to survive the night. Gregory was sipping his glass of bourbon in peaceful solitude when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. Groaning internally, he turned around to face the torture of interacting with another human at the ghastly party. 

There stood his ex-wife, smiling sweetly at him and holding her own drink. Greg was reeling. 

“What are you doing  _ here _ ?” Gregory all but sneered at his through pursed lips. 

“I’m here with my fiancé of course.” She delivered with an irritated eye roll, smirking.

“Huh?” Greg fully turned around to face her in his surprise. He frowned as his face morphed from annoyance to bewilderment.  _ She’s remarrying?  _

“You heard that right, Greg, “ She said, bright blue eyes never tearing away from his own dark stare. “Over there.” She pointed in the direction of a short man wearing a coat. 

Greg didn’t recognize who it was until the man turned around revealing his side profile. His stomach dropped and he made a face of utter disgust. 

“My ex  _ boss?! _ ” he exclaimed, trying to mask his fury.

He heard her laugh, full and airy and disturbingly  _ delighted. _ Greg didn’t realize his hand had curled into a fist, his breath rough. He felt hot with anger. Gregory was positively  _ seething _ . The night could  _ not  _ possibly be getting worse. The voice of the woman that had wrecked most of everything in his life pulled him back to reality.

“Yes, dear Greg, why should I settle for less when I can get  _ more _ ?” She smirked, taking a sip of her cheap wine. “So…” Greg turned to face her again as she slid her hand over his shoulder. “Are you seeing anyone?” 

“No.” He answered quickly and curtly, shoving her uncomfortably hot hand off his shoulder.

“No need to get defensive, Greg.” She said, expression changing from playful to displeased at the rude gesture, “I’d already noticed. Pathetic as always I see. Look at you all alone  _ still.  _ But should I be surprised? Got rid of you for a reason. Who would  _ want  _ you?” She snarled and strutted back to her supposed fiance. 

Her words hurt. They were cruel and vile. Full of hate. Greg should know that by now. He should be unaffected by her malice, she had never truly loved him, he should’ve been used to it. But he couldn’t pretend the words hadn't felt like a beating to the gut. And to the heart. At the end of the day, she was right. He was all alone. 

Greg gulped down the rest of his drink and set his glass down and decided he’d had enough of the treacherous gathering. He was putting on his coat and turning in the direction for the door, when it opened. In walked Chief Patrick, smiling and waving to some colleagues. Greg’s gaze fell to his hands. He was holding someone’s hand, Greg hadn’t seen him with anyone after his divorce. He looked up searching in curiosity for the person whose hand he was holding. 

His heart stopped. Greg couldn’t breath for what seemed like an eternity. 

There stood his gorgeous Mycroft. All posh in his three piece suit and ever loyal umbrella. He was smiling at all the people Chief Patrick pointed to and shook hands with. His blood ran cold down his spine and his eyes began to sting. Greg shook his head to regain his composure and took in deep breaths. He secretly hoped that if he closed his eyes, he would realize it was all a dream. A terrible, horrifying, bad dream. But that did not happen. Mycroft was still there, looking lovely and following the Chief faithfully wherever he went. 

Greg snapped out of his daze. He  _ needed  _ to get the hell out of that place before he crumpled to the ground in front of all of his colleagues and his insufferable ex-wife. He made a mad dash for the door, avoiding as many people as possible on the way out and forcing himself to smile in goodbye to others. 

His mission, however, was interrupted by a hand grabbing him by the forearm. Greg stumbled back at the contact and turned around reluctantly.

“Chief Patrick,” He said in greeting with a tight, forced smile, as he straightened himself to regain self-control. 

“Detective Inspector Lestrade,” He said nodding and offering a small smile, “Were you leaving already? The party has only begun!” he chuckled. Greg grimaced internally. 

“Oh no, sir, I-...umm” Greg stumbled over his words trying but failing to give some sort of excuse for his ridiculous behavior. 

“Stay a little longer” Chief Patrick said patting his shoulder, “I must introduce you to my plus one tonight, Mr. Holmes.” he said, gesturing to Mycroft, practically beaming with pride. 

_ Plus one.  _ Greg repeated in his head over and over again. His heart was so heavy in his tight chest it was physically painful. His breaths quickened in panic and grief. Mycroft had left him for someone  _ else.  _ Greg felt his eyes beginning to sting again but he quickly blinked the hot tears away before they had a chance to trickle down his flushed cheeks. 

“Detective Inspector,” Mycroft kidly smiled and nodded at him, stretching out his hand for a shake.

“Mr. Holmes” Greg said, trying his best for his voice not to sound so unbearably shaky. He took his outstretched hand in his clammy one and gave it a weak shake, “It’s nice of you to join us.” He concluded, voice low and quiet as he kept his eyes trained to the ground avoiding Mycroft’s gaze. 

“Well,” Chief Patrick’s voice called out, “Do stay, Inspector, we must go say the rest of our greetings.” He said with a grin and tugged Mycroft by the hand to the next victim of their formal social pleasantries. 

_ Fuck.  _ Greg thought to himself as he begrudgingly made his way back to the bar for another shot of hard liquor. A long night it was going to be. 

\------------------

Mycroft’s predictions of Greg’s reactions had been far from reality. The hurt in the detective inspector’s dark chocolate orbs had been far more than what Mycroft had imagined. It broke him. It broke him to see the most beautiful man on the planet look so utterly crushed. But what broke him the most was that  _ he  _ had been the one to cause Gregory such pain. His heart ached for his beloved. He wanted to bring his hand up to his lips and kiss at every knuckle when they shook hands. He longed to wrap his arms around his slim waist and hold him so close to his chest that that would be breathing the same air. He wanted to run his hands through the soft silver locks and melt onto his plush lips. 

Mycroft looked down at his hands and was faced with the cruel reality of the situation. That hand felt foreign in his. It lacked warmth and comfort. It felt like it didn’t belong there, fingers intertwined with his. Like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. 

No one had ever made him hate his job more. And that said a lot about the man who was currently introducing him as his  _ plus one.  _

He returned to his feelings of guilt and sorrow when he caught a glimpse of his sweet Gregory taking his 3rd shot of whisky. He felt his blood run cold at the sight of him in anguish and sadness. He had noticed. Of course he had noticed the look in Greg's eyes when his gaze landed on Mycroft's intertwined hands. The stutter when he was greeting the Chief. It was all out of pain but moreover  _ embarrassment.  _ Embarrassment that he was there alone. Embarrassment that he hadn’t been enough for Mycroft. Embarrassment at his feelings; that he had been so trusting of the elder Holmes only to be utterly humiliated. Mycroft had resisted, with every fiber of his being, enclosing him in a warm embrace and telling him there should be no reason for self doubt. That he was the only man that owned his heart. The only man that could _ever_ own his heart.

But he didn’t. He  _ couldn’t. _

So he continued playing along.

\-------------

Around 3 hours into the “ _ party _ ” Greg decided that enough was truly  _ enough.  _ He’d had enough alcohol in his system to be able to successfully ignore the sight of his ex-wife rubbing it in that she had found someone to love on one side of the room and the sight of Mycroft and Christopher sitting side by side on the other side of the room. Though Mycroft’s hand resting comfortably on Mr. Patrick’s upper thigh did  _ not  _ go unnoticed, even with the alcohol cursing through his veins. At the moment, however, Mycroft was not next to Mr. Patrick and Greg took it as the perfect opportunity to flee without having to witness yet another public display of  _ affection.  _ If that’s what he could call it. 

He rose from his seat at one of the ridiculously decorated tables and went for his coat. Greg just wanted to be home, wrapped up in his sheets for the next three days with no interruptions. He’d had enough heartbreak in one night to last him a lifetime. He reached for the double doors and stepped into the windy night. The gust hit him like a freight train and he shivered. Popping the collar of his coat up to shield himself from the chilling cold, he made his way down the steps of the Yard's main entrance. Greg stuffed a hand in the pocket of his coat and retrieved a cigarette from it's pack. Pulling out his lighter, he placed the end between his parted lips and flicked his finger against the steel wheel of the lighter to ignite a small flame. Greg took a long drag and closed his eyes, shoulders relaxing and hands falling to his side at the first taste of the tobacco. He exhaled the cloud of smoke and opened his eyes, turning to head home when he saw him.

The man who had stolen his heart. And kept it.

He was leaning against the railing. His own cigarette in hand, blowing small puffs of smoke into the dark night. His eyes trained on the detective inspector, though he said nothing. 

“Mycroft…” Greg said, not meaning to. He quickly realized he’d actually uttered the other man's name and he felt his blood boil. He was so  _ angry.  _ So betrayed at Mycroft’s actions. So unbelievably hurt. “Nevermind.” He shook his head in fury and turned hastily to resume his walk. He stopped himself only a few steps in and whirled around again on his heels, “No wait.” he said, pulling the cigarette from his lips, which were trembling.

“Gregory…” Mycroft began, but was cut off.

“No. I said wait.” Greg said through pursed lips. “You...you...you.... _ fucking bastard. _ ” 

Mycroft stepped away from the railing and made his way down to the street where Greg was standing. 

Gregory held out his hands exasperatedly in a stopping motion at Mycroft. Greg was once again seething in anger for the millionth time that night. 

“You-” he began again, shifting his weight to his right leg and placing one hand on his hip, and pointing an accusatory cigarette towards Mycroft. “You and... _ him?”  _

“What seems to be the problem, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked with a straight face though it was killing him inside. 

“What about…” Greg let out a heaved sigh in frustration, bringing the hand that was resting on his hip to pitch the bridge of his nose. He really was  _ pathetic.  _ “What about us, huh? All those dates? The night you came out of fucking nowhere and kissed me without so much as a word for explanation?” Greg is waving his hands angrily at Mycroft, frustrated and embarrassed that his emotions had been toyed with. 

_ They weren’t toyed with, my love, I meant it all.  _ Mycroft was thinking to himself. Then stopped.  _ My love.  _ Had he just thought that? This was all too much. He needed to keep his plan safe.

“There was never anything between us.” he says, voice unwavering and cold.

“Oh really?” Greg says voice pitched and incredulous. He drops his cigarette to the ground and stomps on it, taking out another one. “So you just kiss friends, acquaintances and business partners on the lips then?” his voice is mocking.

Mycroft balls his hands into fits, trying to concentrate on getting Greg to leave because if he stayed even a second longer, Mycroft would not be able to hold back and break his cover. 

“Please, Gregory.” He starts to utter the beginning of a sentence he is going to deeply regret, “Look at you. Why would I settle for the Detective Inspector when I can have the  _ Chief? _ Do you really think I could stoop down to your  _ level?  _ You surely might have gotten the wrong impression of me, Mr. Lestrade, I wouldn’t settle for someone of your  _ status. _ ” 

It's cruel. More than cruel it's vile. Inexplicably offensive and appalling. Mycroft feels sick to his stomach when he looks up to meet Greg’s gaze. What a mistake that was. The sadness in the eyes that once shone brightly with care and affection for Mycroft turned black and filled with tears. He hadn’t just offended him or brushed him off, he’d  _ hurt  _ Gregory.  _ Truly _ hurt him. 

The words hit Greg like sharp daggers, digging deep straight into his heart. He knew Mycroft could say strong worded things, but  _ this.  _ It was far too much for Greg. As if he hadn’t had enough suffering for the night. The worst part is he actually believed every word. Who  _ would  _ settle for him? His beer loving, rough and ugly, self? 

Gregory let out a shaky breath and dropped his eyes down to look at the cold concrete, where his first cigarette lay. He took one last drag of his second one before putting it out and it joined the other one on the hard pavement. He quickly spun on his heels and hastily began his walk back home.

_ Alone.  _

_ \--------------- _

And that is how he spent the rest of the night when he got home. He curled into his sheets like he had wanted to and took the next three days off. He mourned the death of his heart and slept blissfully to forget.

But he couldn’t.

Mycroft found his way back inside, with a heavy heart. The feeling of being sick not leaving him. He excused himself from Christopher and the party citing feeling a bit under the weather and left. Trying desperately to forget the words he’d uttered.

But he couldn’t 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride. This was certainly not the funnest to write, I hate seeing them so hurt, buttttt the the more it hurts the better the relief feels in the end right?? I hope so. Anyway, really hoping this chapter is better! Let me know what y'all think! As always....thank you for reading!! ❤️❤️❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This is an intro chapter to set the mood but it's about to get spicy, I promise! <3 <3 <3 let me know what y'all thing!


End file.
